13 Waspinators
by That Buggy Girl
Summary: Eleventh: Circles. Because everything in life will eventually swing back around and come full circle. Welcome to the Waspinator Project! Plots, lengths and additional characters will vary per chapter. Some slash.
1. Ghosts 1: Just in Case

**Notes: **This little series of drabbles is going to contain longer versions of my submissions for beastwars_100 (sometimes, it's really hard whittling them down to 100 words and I want to add things in!) over at live journal.

Each short will be titled with the challenge it was written for, and they probably won't tie in to make one long, flowing story. Each one will stand alone.

All of them will -obviously- be about Waspinator. I chose 13 as my goal number, since it is an "unlucky" number and our bug is quite unfortunate. If the count goes beyond 13 before I lose interest, I will change the title.

* * *

**Ghosts**

There is no such thing as a ghost.

There is no scientific proof, only superstitious belief. Where there is ignorance, there is often foolish, unfounded explanations. And thus…Things in the dark, feelings you get sometimes, something you see, but aren't totally sure you see…Those become ghosts. And yet…No one has _proven_ it.

Sure, there is Starscream, but all he proves is that a spark can exist without a shell. He is _not_ a ghost, because there is _no such thing._

Why is it, then, that Terrorsaur haunts Waspinator wherever he goes?

Sometimes, out of the corner of his optic, Waspinator will catch a glimpse of red going 'round a corner. Or loitering in the forest. And he asks himself '_What IS that?'_ because he knows it is not Inferno or Rampage; they are somewhere clearly in view. Or out. Or too big to be that little flash of red.

Other times, in a not-so-smooth surface -water or unfinished metal- he will spot a familiar smarmy grin reflected over his shoulder. _Terrorsaur!_ And when he turns…Nobody there. Nothing to have possibly made such a shadow on the reflective surface.

During battle, echoing down the hall, drifting on the breeze…Waspinator will sometimes hear an-all-too-familiar screechy laugh. This gives him pause; how can Terrorsaur's laugh echo through the sky when he is gone? There is no way, so he can't really be gone. But…_Where is he?_ It is especially bad in battle, when he seems totally zoned out. It is not that he's incompetent, it's that he's _listening_, trying to locate the source of the sound.

Then there is the feeling…That feeling of somebody there _when he's totally alone. _This one happens most often of all and it bothers him most. It is that feeling of being watched and when he looks over a shoulder, no one is there. Or the little voice, low and dangerous, reminding him of his shortcomings, cheering him on, giving him round-about pep talks. Or sometimes…Sometimes, the feel of some one brushing up against him, that kind of feeling that left him feeling as if he was static-charged.

Waspinator isn't sure if he's being haunted by a ghost or by his own emotions regarding the death of his friend, but he suspects it's the later because _there is no such thing as a ghost_.

And yet…

-'_Terrorsaur never really left.' _He can't help thinking it, especially in moments where his presence seems so _real_.-

He lets himself believe anyway, just in case.


	2. Ghosts 2: Dead or Alive

**Notes:** Here is 'Ghost: Redux.' This drabble has nothing to do with the last, except that I could not resist writing it.

_We are the dead, except we don't know it. We think we're alive, but we're not._

* * *

Waspinator doesn't know it, but he didn't actually survive the war.

At some point, early on, after one too many explosions, or being shot too many times, or too many crashes…He just never recovered.

Only he never realizes it.

His resting place is a grove of trees somewhere not far from Maximal territory. Was he shot down? Or did he crash? No one cares enough to find out. He crashed and burned and picked himself up again, same as always, completely oblivious to the fact that he left his shell behind and a mere phantom trudged back to base to carry on as the universe's whipping boy.

Such things happen, of course. In war, especially, it is all too common to see a comrade or enemy fall. Especially one as unlucky as Waspinator, who is constantly being injured. No one will be surprised to see him die. In fact, they expected it to happen long ago.

Except…No one else notices either.

Because a ghost, after all, is merely a soul who has passed with business left unfinished. Usually, their imprint remains in the world, striving to complete some task, pass on some important message, get information out, to be reunited with a loved one, to avenge a death that came too soon, too violently. Waspinator's existence ended without his proving his worth to any one; he therefore cannot rest in peace.

So he plods on, striving to succeed and trapped in an endless loop of failure and misery. And no one notices, because he may as well have been a ghost before, given the way no one noticed him, no one cared, no one remembered to pick up his pieces. He is just this, a shadow, and he does what is asked of him to the best of his ability, just as he did before. Dead. Alive. It makes no different to every one else. Half the time, they don't even notice him and he feels as if he's faded into obscurity.

There is no recognition. No rest, either. Just this - _Everything._ It is too much. It is not enough. He has always believed that the end brings peace.

But…

Being a ghost isn't so much different than being himself.

So perhaps he _isn't _a ghost.

Perhaps -and here is a truly chilling thought!- this endless cycle is just his life.


	3. Desperate Measures: No Way Out

**Notes: **This story is written in a really weird point of view. It was written that way so I wouldn't have to pick a specific Maximal. You can insert your favorite Maximal when you read it...Or tell me who you think it might have been :3

* * *

"Don't slag Wazpinator!"

It's a typical sight. Waspinator, cowering in a box canyon, scraping and groveling and begging. He's sustained severe damages; in fact, one wing is torn clean off. You're not sure if that's the result of one of your people firing on him, or if he was simply caught in the crossfire. He's scorched in several places -Inferno is always a bit overzealous in battle- armor dented. He already looks like slag.

And it's plain to see…It was a really rough battle.

_But you have him now._ A smile curls your mouth upwards at the thought.

He's there, trapped. You followed him -orders are orders- and now you've boxed him into a corner. There's no way for him to escape; no way but up, and he can't even go that way, with his missing wing, he's rendered flightless.

Perfect.

You aim your weapon. "Why shouldn't I?" The question is casual; taunting him is fun. You never really understood why the Predacons like to play with their prey - Until now.

He hunches up a little more, arms curling protectively around his head, as if that will keep him safe from your weapon fire. He would try to edge away, but his back is pressed as close to the wall as can be. He glances up at the sky, almost as if he expects help to come from above, then looks back, right at you, unblinking optics fixed on your face.

"I want to live." It's a quiet yet commanding response. You've never seen him so serious before. Never knew he could be so serious; he always seems to be fueled by nothing more than his emotions, driving him to make mistakes.

His tone is enough to stay your hand as you consider his statement.

He sounded…normal.

Moments later, he is fleeing the scene, half limping, half running.

It's not because you're feeling generous. He's done little to earn your generosity. It also isn't because you're in a forgiving mood. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness And it's certainly not because you're a Maximal and protecting life is your prerogative; here on this planet, it's kill or be killed.

No, it's because you have never heard him speak like that, with dignity, in first person. It is startling; unusual. Enough to remind you that he is as mortal as us all and that, someday, no CR tank will be able to put him back together again. He wants to live badly enough to force himself into proper speech…

You let him go because you know just how desperate he is to survive.


	4. Breaking the Rules: Unspoken

**Notes: **No notes this time.

**

* * *

**

There is one unspoken rule among the Predacons:

_To show feelings, especially love, is to show weakness._

There's no room among the ranks for sentimentality or emotion. To wear your spark on your sleeve is to be no better than a Maximal, for only those goody-goodies will let others know their innermost thoughts and feelings. Private thoughts should be exactly that - Private.

When everybody is your potential enemy, you don't want others knowing your vulnerabilities. To admit to caring for some one is the same as signing their death warrant. They become a liability, some one who can be used to hurt you. If you yourself can't be harmed, they certainly can. And the other Predacons know that will hurt you far more than any injury they can inflict on you. The Maximals are living proof of this.

No one ever talks about it. It is unspoken, yet known and accepted by every Predacon.

Except Waspinator knows that rule is meant to be broken.

He knows he's at his best when his partner is in danger.

Terrorsaur is vain and stupid, with numerous faults of his own. He is a proud mech, with an ego the size of a planet. He thinks he is a genius and doesn't have any problem crowing this for all the world to hear.

He can't keep himself from running his mouth or criticizing others or goading Maximals when he's already down for the count. Because he is so certain of his own intelligence, he's always saying stupid things or speaking without considering the outcome.

And when he tries to play the big mech and show up Megatron...

He tries not to let his own weakness show, but every one knows. It is easy to see. Terrorsaur can't help getting in trouble, or damaged, or coming up with moronic schemes, because his ego is _always_ his downfall.

And who is there to keep him online? Waspinator. Always Waspinator.

The silly bug wears his heart on his sleeve, as easy to see as Terrorsaur's faults. Every one knows that where there is one, there is the other; that when Terrorsaur gets himself in trouble, Waspinator will be the one to pacify Megatron, take hits from the Maximals, drag the pteranodon's sorry red aft back to the base for a dip in the CR.

And Waspinator doesn't do it for the reason most Predacons would; he doesn't do it for blackmail or so that Terrorsaur will owe him or so that he'll look better by comparison.

He does it simply because he feels something for the other mech, something that compels him to try harder, for how can he keep Terrorsaur safe if he messes up or gets damaged or is too scared to act?

He knows it is a lie that love is a weakness. He knows that there is no reason to follow that unspoken rule. He knows that his feelings make him strong.

Because Waspinator's love for Terrorsaur keeps him alive.


	5. Ambition: Futility

**Notes: **Fierceawakening, I'm really glad to hear you say you like these even though you're not a BW fan. That lets me know I'm doing something right.

* * *

_How unhappy are they who have a gift that's left to germinate in darkness._

* * *

Waspinator is not -and never has been- a soldier.

He's not especially qualified to be one, either.

He has never received any battle training. Given the fact that he's not built to be a soldier, this makes perfect sense. His frame is small and breakable, almost as if he's meant to disassemble at the slightest touch. This leaves him more of a liability than an asset. It's why he's become a bit of a joke.

His weaponry isn't particularly powerful. The damage he can do is minimal at best, excluding his own impressive explosions when he gets shot down or crashes. Mostly, no one takes him as a serious threat, because he _isn't_ one.

Waspinator also has problems with processing; something in his mind isn't quite right. All the information is there, but it gets mixed up easily. The messages don't relay properly, or perhaps it's just the result of one too many crashes. Whatever it is…His hand-eye coordination and depth perception aren't all that stellar. Sometimes, it takes him longer to process commands than it takes others. These limitations don't mesh well with the fast pace of war.

He flusters easily. He gets distracted even easier.

And that is why he screws up.

He _is_, however, a competent pilot. Put him behind the controls of a shuttle and he can do amazing things. For all his shortcomings, there is _nothing _wrong with his memory and he's long since memorized the control panel of the average ship. Some of the not-so-average ones as well. Flying is what he was created to do. He knows what to do and he's _good_ at doing it.

It's just that he never gets to.

He always says he has plans; big plans. When he's buzzed on sugar, he can go on and on for hours, twittering about how he's superior to every one, how he should be the boss. He talks to himself, any one, no one about going home, defecting, showing them all! He knows that Megatron is a fool, albeit a brilliant fool, and sometimes pretends he could do better.

But…That's all just talk. Sometimes, he needs to let off steam, because Waspinator is trapped in a cycle of violence and failure brought on by circumstances beyond his control.

He may say he has plans, but his only real goal in life is to prove to every one that he doesn't fail as spectacularly as they think.


	6. Understanding: Birds of a Feather

**Notes: **This drabble is actually not part of the beastwars_100 challenge. But it came to me and needed to be written.

* * *

"At last, a proper nestmate! Tell me, are you a drone or are you a soldier?"

Those were the first words Inferno spoke to Waspinator.

The wasp had been busily working on a repair to the computer console in the control room when the larger mech's clanging footsteps had come echoing through the room. He knew of the new addition to the team, of course, but Megatron had demanded that the computer be repaired Right Away You Fool! and he'd been too busy to meet the other mech yet.

Waspinator had looked up at the pyromaniac ant with a mixture of wariness and interest. He was never quite sure what to make of newcomers for the simple fact that he was never quite sure what to make of any one.

And…Inferno wasn't quite like any of the others. He was tall -Waspinator's shoulder came up only as high as his hip- and intimidating, like most other Predacons, but Waspinator got the feeling he was…curious. About _Waspinator. _And no one ever cared enough about Waspinator to be curious.

Inferno wasn't leering at him. He wasn't towering over him -though Inferno did seem as if he failed to understand the concept of personal space- with a menacing glare on his face. He wasn't fingering a weapon or posturing, trying to show he was the better mech. Instead, he was standing ramrod straight, with no trace of the usual sulky, slumped posture the small insect was used to from Terrorsaur, or the conniving looks the spiders gave.

Waspinator cocked his head, looking up at his new teammate. "Wazpinator iz worker." He finally said, "Iz hiz job to…uh…carry out…Queen'z wishez."

At that, q wide grin spread across Inferno's face and he nodded brusquely - And Waspinator knew he'd given the right answer. "Yes, yes. It is our duty as the Queen's soldiers to carry out His commands. It is a relief to know there is another here who understands this. The others seem to be…lacking in this basic knowledge." Inferno sounded puzzled by his own statement, and Waspinator knew what Terrorsaur had crowed to him was true - The new Pred really did think he was an ant.

"Iz becauze they not insectz." Waspinator supplied helpfully, "Don't understand social structure and hierarchy."

"But you do." Inferno clapped him on the shoulder, leaning in closer, "And that is good. I can tell we will get along well."

Waspinator offered him a tentative smile, still uncertain what to make of him. In all honesty, he didn't really believe any of that social insect stuff. He understood it, yes, but thought it was kind of silly. Megatron was hardly a Queen. And they certainly weren't a Colony; they were a ragtag group of outlaws who were more likely to destroy each other than the Maximals.

But Waspinator…wasn't about the shatter Inferno's illusions. Here, for the first time, was some one he understood. That was a rare thing, as far as he was concerned. Usually, the other Predacons were so complicated he was left guessing at their motives and only figuring them out when it was too late.

But with Inferno…He was so simple. If this was all it took to please him, Waspinator wouldn't complain, nor would he try to tell Inferno otherwise.

He was so grateful to have some one he understood, he would gladly play along.


	7. Dialogue Only: Cold Comfort

**Notes: **This takes place shortly after "Possession."

* * *

"No one carez…"

"About what?"

"About Wazpinator!"

"Well, we _are_ Predacons. What did you expect, hugs? Cuddles? A paid vacation?"

"Expect some one to be concerned! What if Wazpinator never come back; if Starscream stay inside forever? Could have done it, you know. If Starscream not so…so _Starscreamy _Megatron would have keeped him forever. Wazpinator iz failure, so why Megatron gonna care if he iz hizself or if he iz Starscream?"

"It doesn't matter. It didn't happen like that."

"Could have!"

"It didn't, though. I don't know why you're so worked up about this. It's over and done and Starscream is gone, so just shut up about it."

"…"

"_Somebody_ should have worried more. All Megatron worry about iz Starscream betraying him. All Terrorsaur worry about iz Starscream being better than him. Every one worry about Starscream Starscream Starscream, but no one care about poor Wazpinator!

Nobody even azk Wazpinator if he okay! Got all pozzezzed and blowed up and nobody even azk 'Wazpinator, are you okay?' Not even you! Hmmp! Some friend."

"You _did_ get put back together this time, though. That's got to count for something, right?"

"Would have been put back together whether Wazpinator did it or some one elze did it. That doezn't really count. Some one _should have azked._"

"Fine. Waspinator, are you okay?"

"…No. Wazpinator don't feel right; don't feel like hizself."

"…Come here, bug."

"Don't haz to patronize, Terrorsaur."

"No, really. Come here."

"…"

"You still look like yourself, you know. And you're still talking like yourself and you still feel like yourself. He didn't change you."

"Waz _inside_ Wazpinator. Controlled frame. Wazpinator waz trapped inside hizself, couldn't do anything, couldn't get him out. It waz…scary, Terrorsaur. And Wazpinator will never be hizself again."

"Then who are you now, if you're not yourself?"

"Wazpinator iz…"

"Waspinator is being stupid. You're still you and Starscream is gone."

"Terrorsaur doez not understand! Will never understand…"

"Probably not. Now come on. We've got a patrol to finish so we can get the slag out of here."

"…"

"…You coming?"

"Thankz, Terrorsaur."

"For _what_?"

"Being normal."


	8. Snuggling for Warmth: Indulgence

**Notes:** This drabble was written for TF IC Prompt's December 2010 challenge: Snuggling for Warmth. It takes place after the events of the episode "Fallen Comrades."

* * *

It hadn't been the worst day in Waspinator's life, he thought as he trudged wearily back to base, but it was pretty high up on his list.

Like most days, he had been picked for a task he was ill suited for: stasis pod retrieval. What had made it ten times worse that day was the fact that the pod had crashed in a frozen wasteland that was the Northern Sector. And of course, the only ones who could reach it quickly were flyers and _of course_ Megatron would never go himself, no. Cold was bad for most of the Predacons and the tyrannical dinosaur would never risk his own well-being when he could send a minion.

Oh, and a rock -_boulder!_- had fallen on him, but that was the least of Waspinator's complaints over the general suckiness of the day.

No, more than anything -more than the boulders, the pointlessness of the attempted retrieval, the stupid Maximals, it was the biting, horrific _cold_ that got to the little insect.

And Waspinator knew it would take him a long time to get warmed up, despite the fact that their base was situated within an active volcano.

He'd been out in the snow once before, shortly after they'd landed on the mystery planet. He'd been sent on patrol and, naturally, gotten lost. His internal navigation systems weren't that stellar, after all, and he'd wound up somewhere at the top of a mountain, crashed in its snow-covered peaks.

But this day…This day was much worse. That boulder, after all, and the Maximals…

But at least he had company. Terrorsaur looked worse off than he was and Waspinator knew why: A lot of heat escaped his leathery wings. He had also taken on the form of a cold-blooded creature, who couldn't make it very long in the less-than-temperate climate of the Northern Sector.

The red flyer was shivering as he clanked down the hall, the pair having been dismissed by Megatron shortly after they returned to base.

Waspinator, still trying to rub the cold from his own joints, watched the retreating form of his partner as he slumped along to his quarters. Terrorsaur still hadn't totally recovered from the flying mountain debacle, and now this…He looked pretty down in the dumps.

Waspinator followed him.

It wasn't uncommon for them to hang out in one another's quarters; they _were_ something akin to friends, after all. Sometimes they played cards, or got together for a bitchfest, or performed minor repairs on each other, or just sat in companionable silence, doing their own thing but in the same room.

What made that occasion different was that Waspinator followed his companion right to his berth, waiting only a microsecond for Terrorsaur to flop down face-first before he curled up next to him - Maybe the cold had addled his processor as well, or he never would have considered such a thing.

Terrorsaur tensed at the contact, lifting a head to raise a brow at the other flyer. Though he loved to be admired, Terrorsaur was not much of a touchy-feely mech and physical contact was something that often left him feeling uncomfortable.

"Am still cold." Was the only explanation Waspinator offered as he burrowed closer, clutching at his partner's arm and giving him little choice in the matter, "And Wazpinator can tell Terrorsaur iz too."

There was a long silence. Terrorsaur heaved a sigh, debating over whether or not shoving Waspinator on the floor would be worth the effort. He refrained from doing so -how did he always wind up indulging his pesky partner?- and made a feeble attempt to remove his arm from the wasp's grip. Come to think of it…He _was_ feeling warmer already.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. And at least Waspinator was being somewhat quiet. He was making a faint, hum-buzz sound, but his usual endless chatter hadn't started up; he must have been tired.

"Hnn." Terrorsaur had finally grunted, laying his head back down on his arm, "Fine. But if you tell any one about this…"

"Won't." Came the somewhat cheerful reply, "Wazpinator may be dumb, but iz not stupid." And at that moment, he had felt neither…Rather, he was quite victorious in the fact that he'd gotten his partner to snuggle, and glad Terrorsaur couldn't see his triumphant grin.

The last thing Waspinator thought of as he drifted off to recharge, warm and safe, was 'maybe cold haz itz good pointz…'


	9. Beauty: Dance Language

**Notes:** Waspinator is performing a waggle dance in this drabble. For more information, visit wikipedia's article about waggle dances.

I didn't change much of the original 100 words of this drabble, just added a little here or there.

* * *

____

The trick is that the dancing and singing are unrepeatable. Once you know this, you're ready to start learning.

* * *

Blue sky.

Soft sky.

The sun sinks low over the horizon as darkness falls. Azure fades to red as the sun disappears, the sky a wash of bright, fiery colors. That first moment of sunset is almost always the most beautiful, until the rest of the sunset occurs.

And right now, it is neither night nor day, but somewhere in between.

_Twilight._

Time crawls along. The sky gives way to dark; a mysterious inky color.

But still, it is not quite night, but rather a magical time, when fluttering wings catch glimmers of silver light; when a solitary bug flits through the coming dark, looping and twirling through the sky, softly humming. Seeking. Beckoning.

His buzz is like siren call; a low hum driftting through the night.

_Calling._

Here in the fading light, he's graceful, ethereal.

_Beautiful._

The exact opposite of himself.

A streak of red-chrome rises, spiraling after him, catching him mid-roll and pulling him in.

Inside, he smiles.

The message, it seems, was clear.


	10. Love and Hate: Vermilion

**Notes: **I could have gone further with this and tossed Rampage in, but...I liked it as it was.

* * *

__

Sometimes the things which hurt you the worst are the ones you love most.

* * *

Vermilion

Red is Waspinator's favorite color.

It has always been his favorite color; he likes things that catch his optic and anything in a crimson hue never fails to spark his interest. The color is bright; attractive. Even before he was reformatted, Waspinator was easily drawn in; it had nothing to do with the insect instinct.

And over the course of his life, there has been a lot of red in Waspinator's life.

Terrorsaur was a bright crimson, flashy on a streamlined frame. The color of his paintjob had caught Waspinator's attention almost instantly, gleaming in the dim bar, a beacon for the wayward, drawing him like the proverbial moth to a flame. And oh! How he would crash and burn!

Because Terrorsaur's voice, mocking, calling him stupid, rings through his memory and he aches somewhere deep inside, spark constricting painfully at the memory. It hurt more than any physical injury ever could.

Inferno was darker, ruby and fire, passion and intensity. He burned brighter than almost any one else Waspinator has ever met: Unstoppable, powerful, ardent. He blazed, while Terrorsaur shone. Different, but still alluring.

But Inferno shot him; considered him a traitor, all because he got tired, and there's that tightness again.

Waspinator loves the color red-

_And Megatron…_

He shudders at the thought.

-but hates what it does to him.


	11. Past Prompts: Circles

**Notes: **Hi! I actually wrote this set a really long time ago and neglected to post it. It was from the "past prompts" challenge and the prompts I used were "before earth," "love and hate," "Waspinator," and "family." I didn't bother editing any of them, since they make one longer story arc.

* * *

Waspinator was an accident.

His creators never kept that any secret.

In the beginning, they told him how they hadn't planned for him; sparklings –especially Predacon sparklings- were an expense few could afford.

But a baby Seeker…That was something to be cherished. How proud of him they were; how lucky to have him!

Until they started realizing…He wasn't growing out of his eccentric behavior and odd speech quirks.

And then…

He remembers the fights. The cruel words: _Disappointment. Stupid. Failure. Not fit to be a Seeker._

They never said it, but he knew…He wasn't an accident. He was a _mistake.  
_

* * *

Terrorsaur's parents wanted him badly, but not for the reasons one would expect.

He was a sign of status, of wealth. They were affluent enough to afford a sparkling and another Seeker was a boon to the community.

But…It wasn't really _him_ they wanted; it was any sparkling, just so they could rub it in that they had the credits to produce a child.

Terrorsaur lived a privileged –though lonely- life, with his creators putting on airs and leaving him to his own devices.

And he grew up knowing one truth: The only one you can rely on is yourself.

* * *

When they met, Waspinator was an insecure wreck and Terrorsaur had a massive ego.

Terrorsaur didn't need a partner, especially not an undersized, poor excuse for a Seeker who couldn't even speak properly. He was better than that and oh! would he show Megatron! It was one of the most horrible moments ever, meeting his new partner.

And it only got worse when they left the bar, Waspinator trailing him like a silly, stupid shadow.

He didn't like the little moron, but…didn't let anybody else pick at him either. That was _his_ little moron.

And Waspinator…well he fell in love.

* * *

It was instantaneous; as soon as his optics met Terrorsaur's, Waspinator felt as if a jolt of lightning flashed through his body. His every circuit sang out, rejoicing at finding the perfect other half of his spark; the one who would love him and make him whole.

Only…Terrorsaur didn't seem to feel it too.

Terrorsaur, with his cruel, biting words and snobby attitude, was Waspinator's destiny _and he had no idea!_

And oh, how Waspinator loved him, with all of his spark! So much that it was painful, until he hated his feelings almost as strongly as he loved Terrorsaur.

Over time, Terrorsaur thawed towards his partner.

* * *

Waspinator, it turned out, had many endearing qualities. He was a whiz at repairs. He was a crack shot, when he wasn't busy exploding. And he would always put himself on the line to drag Terrorsaur's sorry aft back to base, something the other flyer sorely needed.

He was quirky.

Honest.

Such a difference from the other back-stabbing Predacons.

But most of all…

He had his own clumsy grace, an existence of gliding movements and fathomless indigo optics, shimmering wings and careful hands.

And it wasn't too long before Terrorsaur found him irresistible.

* * *

By the time they realized what was going on, it was far too late to do anything about it.

They'd made the same mistake as Waspinator's creators.

But…It didn't _feel_ like a mistake.

Waspinator brushed his fingers over his chest, where somewhere beneath his armor the newspark was developing, safe and drawing strength from his spark.

Terrorsaur was passed out cold beside him; his shock over the situation had caused a massive crash to his processor and he'd yet to reboot. Waspinator wasn't too worried; Terrorsaur would come around.

A baby Seeker was always something to be cherished, after all.


End file.
